Good Night, Sweet Prince

Cast out, and marked of divergence
from good will and stolen chance,
one forsaken wanders of unrest,
of unkind and unjust circumstance.
Time ebbs on, to endure eternal
may prove too fruitless to heart,
lest a generation make whole
and sooth old fires while apart.
The tumultuous and disconcerted
are all but left to embrace,
it only maddens but emerges
through a veil of covered face.
A heart stays quickened and wicked
from his lassitude becoming decline,
and that found comfort of wantonness
but yet through a series of thine.
Though remaining while relinquished,
his fever begins taking breath,
"Good night, sweet prince, may flights
of devils wing you to your rest."